


Crown of Dusk

by Octobig



Series: Heart of Steel [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dancing, Established Relationship, F/F, Oral Sex, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, spoilers for the entire main game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-20 09:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13714779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobig/pseuds/Octobig
Summary: In Skyhold hangs a painting that depicts two women in love.Two of the strongest, most resilient, most vulnerable, and most remarkable women in Thedas.One of them hates ballrooms with every fiber of her being, and the other isn't too keen on bowing to nobility. But they defeated Corypheus together, so the least they could do is accept that invitation and waltz the night away. And they discover that dancing might not be so awful after all.[Or alternatively: in which there are beginnings, endings, and a dance. But perhaps all of it was a dance all along.]





	1. If not, I would remind you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens during the dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If not, I would remind you_   
>  _...of our wonderful times._
> 
> _For by my side you put on_  
>  _many wreaths of roses_  
>  _and garlands of flowers_  
>  _around your soft neck._
> 
> _And with precious and royal perfume_  
>  _you anointed yourself._
> 
>  
> 
> \-- excerpt taken from Sappho's 94

  


**Chapter 1**

**In which the Seeker and the Inquisitor celebrate Corypheus’ defeat by means of a waltz.**

  


Cassandra is quite certain she hates ballrooms with every fiber of her being.

The very air in them is stifling, clogging your throat while you attempt to wade through gigantic hoop dresses and elaborate headdresses, only to reach the banquet table and find it overflowing with little snippets of cakes and tiny bites of chocolates.

Nothing substantial, nothing to distract yourself with – except maybe the fancy red wine from Antiva, tipped into delicately stemmed glasses by a servant with a sardonic smile.

And that’s not even touching upon all the overblown decorations, and the pompousness of the very architecture that accompanies the whole ordeal.

It infuriates her, reminding her of the fact that the Chantry would rather spend its money on fancy hats and dresses for the Divine than give it to the poor. All that curled gold, all that silver embroidery, all those heavy velvet curtains – while the less fortunate beg for scraps in the streets.

( _Please let Leliana fix that_ , she thinks. _No more relics of our faith’s ancient past._ )

Merely thinking of the Winter Palace is already enough to make Cassandra scowl.

The Game is yet another disgusting layer draped over all of it – lying and scheming, manipulating and backstabbing, all the while smiling politely and waltzing the greatest of all dances on the ballroom floor with your worst enemy encircled within your arms.

And the _dresses_ , Maker, the _dresses._

(She remembers Vivienne’s voice in her mind clear as day: _I suggest a vibrant red, darling; not too deep in the neckline, mind you_ , and somehow that was worse than any sword Cassandra’s ever had at her throat.)

Her hands folded on the railing, even when she was a child, looking upon the balls held by the Nevarran royalty. Never participating but always watching with eager eyes, admiring how the flames of chandeliers and candles lit up the dancing couples on the floor.

How their figures moved, small and dainty and dignified, much like the little figures that danced in the music box that Cassandra and Anthony kept upstairs, in their shared playroom.

But when Cassandra slowly grew into the person she is now, she didn’t _want_ to participate, not anymore.

Felt like she was too much, too bold, too awkward, too much of a warrior to enjoy dancing with the rest of them. Wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress, and could never learn how to play the Game.

She’d always wondered why, though – why people couldn’t just do all of this and be _pleasant_ , rather than cold and manipulative. Why someone couldn’t just take her by the hand and swirl her around in full-plate armor. Why she couldn’t just enjoy the things in the way she wanted to enjoy them.

When the Inquisition first came to Halamshiral to try and save Empress Celene, it reminded her of all of that.

Of old, hidden things buried deep in the awkward years of her youth.

So Cassandra had punched a wall, much like she had punched bears in the Hinterlands.

It hadn’t helped that time.

While the Inquisitor had snuck around looking for scandals and gossip and Tevinter assassins, Cassandra had felt stifled in that ludicrous, too-tight dress uniform. Surrounded by awful, single-minded people that prodded and poked her with questions and thinly veiled insults.

And then there had been the dancing.

Somehow that had still made her heart thaw and her pulse quicken – even if she declined every offer to take her to the floor, even if she had to watch the Inquisitor get ensnared in those devilish arms of Florianne de Chalons.

Even if she – heart still pitter-patter against her ribcage – refused the offer of the Inquisitor later, subtle and understated on the balcony, because apparently Cassandra hadn’t been able to see romance even if it punched _her_ in the face.

All taken together, Cassandra knows that hating ballrooms can be more complicated than just hating what fills them.

But now?

( _“Don’t be silly. Of course we’re going to go together. I want you at my side.”_ )

With Corypheus defeated, Leliana chosen as the new Divine, and a beautifully calligraphed invitation on Skyhold’s doorstep?

( _“Did you really think I wouldn’t want the world to know about us? You had Sera paint Skyhold for me.”_ )

A grand ball organized by Queen Anora, Empress Celene, and Ambassador Briala as a celebration of the Inquisition’s grand victory; how could the guests of honor ever refuse it?

( _“The least I could do is finally waltz you across that shiny-slick ballroom properly, like you deserve.”_ )

And there’s a whirlwind of activity, suddenly – preparations and practice and fine silks, and advice about hairpieces and shiny buckles and speeches, and Cassandra only wants to hit things more, even though she doesn’t fully know why.

( _“We’ll practice. And once we finish our dance, the world will never be the same.”_ )

She knows that _she_ will never be the same, after this.

How could she?

When all eyes are on her – and not just the least of them, but those of an empress, a queen, an ambassador, and the entirety of the Inquisition – there is no place to hide. No railing to shelter herself behind, no glum glowering that could drive those who wish to approach her away. And perhaps, this once, she doesn’t want to hide.

Cassandra subtly clears her throat, holding fast against a thousand curious gazes of admiration, her hands clasped behind her back.

She’s in a ballroom, and she’s still nervous. But this time around for wholly different reasons.

Reasons with bright eyes, long lashes, impossibly long legs; reasons that came back from this war alive.

Cassandra swallows, thickly, as she stands at the foot of the steps that lead to the dancefloor.

Above her, the announcer bellows, her Orlesian accent thick and heavy: “Now presenting Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan of Ostwick, Vanquisher of the Fallen Magister Corypheus.”

Cassandra clasps her hands together a little tighter.

Josephine and Vivienne have arranged a dress uniform for her that’s less confining, less bright, and more warlike – and Cassandra has to admit that she thinks it very smartly made.

One might call it a little too detailed, a little too elaborate, but it fits like a glove. There’s a refined red cloak over one shoulder, buckles that remind her of armor pieces, and a sharp, popped collar.

She even has a ceremonial sword at her hip, engraved with both the Pentaghast and the Trevelyan family mottos.

As the announcer says her own name _(“… and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra, former Right Hand to the Divine, and Rebuilder of the Seekers of Truth_ ”), Cassandra’s reasons to hate ballrooms disappear entirely.

Evelyn descends from the steps before her, all polite smiles and stately hand gestures until her eyes find Cassandra’s. Her smile grows smaller, fonder, a quiet little secret in the curl of her lips and the dimple of her cheek.

Cassandra’s steel resolve nearly melts under the full divinity of that smile.

It speaks volumes. Tomes of romance, tales of love, wild yet patient; of deep friendship and trust. Beyond ballrooms, beyond nobles, beyond anything else in the whole wide world.

“Cassandra,” Evelyn says with a short nod, and Cassandra sees the _I love you_ beneath it.

Evelyn, too, wears ceremonial daggers at her hip, but her clothes are as majestically enchanting as Vivienne’s seamstress could design them. They float and swish around her body, made to enhance the width of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, and the strong lines of her arms.

The flash of her bare legs as she steps forward, her gaze expectant.

Cassandra removes her ceremonial gloves, tucking them into her waistband, and bows.

The announcer continues, somewhat like a distant memory.

“Opening the celebration of Corypheus’ defeat and the union of our nations!” she cries while the onlookers cannot contain their gasps of excitement.

Evelyn is still smiling, and curtsies back with a bend of her head.

Her throat is adorned with Trevelyan family jewels, and she wears a tiara upon her head worthy of Andraste herself. It holds somewhere between a battle-crown and a more elegant, queen-like thing, making it uniquely Evelyn in all its aspects.

There are more murmurs from the crowd and Cassandra reaches out. She gingerly takes Evelyn’s hand, and mouths her own _I love you_ across the back of it.

The music has already started; the warm tones of strings on lacquered wood. The crystallized plink of a piano, the subtle tones of a flute.

A waltz, of course.

What could be more fitting for the Inquisitor and her lover?

Evelyn’s hand is warm and solid in her own as Cassandra leads her to the center of the dancefloor, and all of that glittering gold of chandeliers and grand statues now fuels her excitement rather than curbs it.

She is certain that there are butterflies in her stomach – or what other ridiculous metaphor Varric would’ve used when describing a scene like this in a novel. ( _What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him_ , Cassandra thinks.)

They practiced this, of course.

Hour upon hour – through Skyhold’s main hall, over the battlements, and dressed in nothing but their undergarments in the confines of Evelyn’s room. Under Josephine’s tutelage, under Dorian’s, and even under Varric’s.

The motions are just that; similar to battle drills, unemotive and effective on their own. The rest is trust, and the feelings of the people involved.

They stop near the center, and Evelyn takes the lead. Slips her arm around Cassandra’s waist, mindful of the sword, and clasps her hand firmly around Cassandra’s. They take their first step, smooth and certain, and Cassandra immediately loses herself in the cadence of it.

Evelyn’s dress twirls as gracefully as she does, the light fabric swishing between Cassandra’s legs and leather boots as they circle from the center towards the edges of the dancefloor.

They both keep their heads up high, stately and royal, with their chins tipped upward. But despite all the dance etiquette – and there is an awful lot of it – Cassandra finds that she cannot keep her eyes off of Evelyn’s.

 _Bright,_ she thinks, _and so alive._

They turn another corner, spinning, and there is a subdued applause from the crowd as they do so.

Cassandra’s heart leaps into her throat as the ensemble lets its violins swell and she and Evelyn pick up on the tempo, swirling faster across the smooth marble floor. Back out and in again, like the tide, even if all she is touching is the very edge of her lover’s fingers – she’s pulled back to her without question.

What a blissful certainty, and what a clear fate.

And then, on the next spin – Cassandra twirling outwards, cloak fanning out in a flourish, before Evelyn draws her back in – Evelyn leans in closer.

This wasn’t as planned, and it certainly isn’t part of the etiquette, but Evelyn never cared for rules much anyway. She leans forward until Cassandra can feel the movement of her legs and her hips as they dance, body pressed close.

Cassandra blinks, her grip of Evelyn’s hand weakening briefly in her confusion, and sees something akin to shyness on her lover’s face. Her face is dusted with powder and glitter, making her sparkle in all the right ways, and then Cassandra sees nothing but the crowd and the lovely arc of Evelyn’s shoulder –

– for Evelyn has pressed her cheek alongside Cassandra’s, swaying against her, the meticulous pose between them broken in place of something more intimate.

The crowd gasps once more, and Cassandra does the same.

“I love you,” Evelyn whispers instead, the endearment floating along the length of Cassandra’s jaw.

Something in Cassandra surges at the closeness, at the whispered words, and gathers Evelyn closer still, pressing her nose into her hair. Her perfume is sweet but strong, like jasmine at twilight.

 _This is everything I ever wanted, and more_.

Evelyn takes Cassandra into another elaborate turn, bodies separating, and pulls her back just as close as they continue their dance. Their noses almost brush in passing.

 _Everything_ , Cassandra thinks, blinking back the sudden wetness at the corners of her eyes.

_I am accepted for who I am. Loved and romanced by my dearest and closest friend; a leader, a queen, an empress. We beat our enemy. I can rebuild the Seekers; I can trust my new Divine._

Another spin, and this is the one where they lift each other briefly, taking turns – and the nobles of Orlais and Ferelden combined love it, murmuring and nodding approvingly. Amongst the sea of faces in the background, Cassandra thinks she spies those of the Inquisition, worn but happy.

 _I have the dream_.

She meets Evelyn’s bright eyes over the next quick spin, and sees the same wonder and adoration she knows are in her own.

The music swells once more, nearing the end of the first waltz – their waltz – and Evelyn leads Cassandra across the ballroom like a true master. Her footwork, usually so becoming of the quick strikes of a rogue, is just as useful for the strides of a dancer.

One final turn, and one final leap of trust.

Evelyn dips her low, and the crowd bursts out into full applause.

“This is the storybook romance,” Cassandra smiles, looking up at Evelyn. “At last.”

Evelyn kisses her, soundly and sweet, and through the resounding cheering that follows, the voices of the more prominent members of the Inquisition – Cassandra clearly hears Sera and Josephine amongst the chaos – can be easily recognized.

“I know,” Evelyn whispers back, smiling. “And I got my knight in shining armor. At last.”

That _does_ make Cassandra cry, if only a little, and she reaches up.

The next kiss is so deep and long that it is beyond scandalous, and the Orlesian court will be discussing it for weeks to come. Vivienne eagerly feeds that discussion, but no matter where it goes, meandering and gossipy, the final conclusion is always the same.

_It must be true love._

And so it echoes in Cassandra’s mind while she kisses Evelyn right there, in a decadent ballroom in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by everything that she used to hate. It echoes all the way back to the first time they kissed, to the first time they loved, and to all the times that Cassandra thought that these kinds of things were never meant for her.

Evelyn finally disentangles them, pulling Cassandra back to her feet. Her grin is as charming as always, and Cassandra is sure that all of that glittery powder on her lover’s cheeks is now upon her own face, as well.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she says, stepping back and curtsying once more.

Cassandra bows and smiles back. “You did,” she agrees, and there is playfulness beneath the awe.

“Two women who loved enough to save the world,” Evelyn murmurs, taking Cassandra’s arm.

They ascend the stairs together, walking up to where the queens of the nations are standing, regal and strong and almost intimidatingly beautiful. They’re applauding them while the other couples now take to the floor, inspired by the impressive opening dance, and Cassandra realizes that she and Evelyn fit in this line-up perfectly.

This line-up of royalty.

They share a brief, amused look as if they have a secret, and Evelyn’s hand tightens in the crook of Cassandra’s elbow.

_We were always meant to be._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy belated valentine's day!
> 
> (i totally didn't listen to "tale as old as time" on repeat while i wrote this.) anyway, i have no excuse. this is probably the most sugary-sweet, over-the-top fluffy fairytale romance i've ever written. cass deserves it tho; warrior woman need romance in their lives too!! and after the mess that is the inquisition, she also 100% deserves a happy ending.
> 
> i thought about putting cassandra in a dress, but decided against it. even in her romance dialogues, she seems vehemently opposed to it, and i wanted to stay true to that.
> 
> also, there's probably a lot to unpack here, but listen: i want more ladies loving ladies having excellent epic fairytale romances. this is the kind of stuff i starved for when i was a kid/teen. and now i've finally unlocked enough gay power to write this sort of stuff myself. there you go!
> 
> warning: next chapter will have smut.
> 
> find me [on tumblr](http://octobig.tumblr.com/)  
>  
> 
> **If you enjoyed reading this fluffy dance-fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, please do consider leaving kudos! Thank you ♥♥**


	2. On soft beds you satisfied your passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _On soft beds you satisfied your passion._
> 
> \-- excerpt taken from Sappho's 94

  


**Chapter 2**

**In which the queen takes the lady knight.**

  


After such a grand evening of cheer and song, of wine and dance, of elegance and flair – no host would expect their most esteemed guests to make the long trek back home. Especially not a host of a royal caliber.

Lodgings have been arranged for all members of the Inquisition, including servants and footmen. But Evelyn, the Inquisitor herself, has gotten a suite in the royal wing of the palace. Richly decorated with blue and gold silks, its little ornate tables covered with more wine, grapes, and little cakes.

And in the center, an elaborate Orlesian-style bed with thick, lush sheets.

Cassandra regards it all with a touch of annoyance that can probably be summarized best by, _“Ugh, Orlesians”_ , as she unbuckles the belt that fastens the large ceremonial sword to her hip.

“I can feel your disapproving glance from all the way over here,” Evelyn says, teasing.

She’s standing by the door, her carefully styled hair and tiara atop it still intact, but she’s kicked off her shoes. They lie side-by-side on the carpet, discarded and forgotten.

Cassandra puts her sword by the nearest chair and grins. “You know of my disdain for such blatant displays of riches and influence,” she answers, simple and true.

Evelyn walks forward, an exaggerated sway to her hips and a lazy, knowing smile on her face. “I do,” she says, voice husky, “but I do find myself wondering how _you_ ’d look, spread out over such a display of riches.”

She pauses, twirling a finger into the edge of Cassandra’s cloak.

“Are you seducing me?” Cassandra asks, one eyebrow raised.

Evelyn purses her mouth as if she’s considering the question. “Yes,” she decides eventually. “I might also be slightly drunk on giddiness and love, which means I’m probably overdoing it.”

She takes a small step back, peering into the elaborately ornamented mirror and admires her dress from the back. Its oval, full-length shape shows Evelyn her own reflection in all its elegant glory, and she seems satisfied with it.

Cassandra is infinitely amused. “You are indeed.”

Evelyn draws a single finger down the front of Cassandra’s uniform. “But you look so dashingly handsome in this, Cass,” she sighs. “I just don’t know what to do with myself. I mean, _look_ at us.”

She gestures back at the mirror before flicking the pad of her thumb over one of the silver buttons. “Did you see all those jealous faces from the Nevarran delegation?” she asks with a sly smirk.

“I was rather too busy looking at you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra simply offers, pressing a kiss to that same finger that’s now crept up to her chin.

Evelyn’s face softens, then. “You’re a sweetheart,” she murmurs, stroking Cassandra’s cheek, “and I absolutely loved dancing with you. It was _stellar_.”

A pause. “Grand,” she adds, eyes luminous.

Cassandra smiles, sweeping her fingers over Evelyn’s partially bare shoulder, touching a jangling earring in the process. It reflects the light, much like the Mark on Evelyn’s hand does.

“We certainly made a lasting impression,” she says, unable to keep the proudness welling in her chest. “The Inquisitor and her Seeker. They will be telling stories of us for ages to come.”

Evelyn nods. “As they should,” she says, mimicking something of the royal air of Vivienne’s tone and inflection. She slides her hands around Cassandra’s neck, fiddling with the collar.

Her gaze darkens, and Cassandra suppress a shiver at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“Make love to me?” Evelyn asks then, not entirely out of the blue. “Tonight, here in the palace?”

She takes a step back towards the bed with the lush, satin sheets; her arms still wound around Cassandra, pulling her along. Her gaze flutters down to Cassandra’s lips, and there is so much longing on her face.

“Is that how our story ends, then?” Cassandra asks, slipping her hand out of the grasp of Evelyn’s arms to unclasp her cloak and undo the first buttons of her uniform. She slowly opens the collar, exposing the shirt underneath.

Next to the bed, the mirror reflects the slow, purposeful movement in shadows and moonlight.

Evelyn smiles and lets go of Cassandra, falling back onto the bed. Somehow it looks graceful, as she sprawls back onto the pillows, the splits in her dress baring her legs to Cassandra’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says, eying Cassandra up and down while Cassandra continues undoing the buttons of her uniform.

“How _do_ fairytales often end?” she almost muses. “With the sun setting below the horizon while the lovers finally kiss?”

Cassandra looks outside the window briefly, watching the starry sky. “Hmm. It is already past midnight,” she murmurs, placing a knee on the mattress between Evelyn’s legs as she sheds the uniform’s jacket.

Evelyn laughs, stretching her arms above her head almost lazily, her hair spread around her like a second crown.

“Are you trying to say that this isn’t a storybook ending?” she teases, playfully.

Cassandra doesn’t bother kicking off her boots; she crawls up Evelyn’s body until their noses are inches apart. Her lover’s face has a light, lovely flush, which stands out even through the swaths of glitter high on her cheeks.

“Hmm,” she hums semi-thoughtfully, her eyes roving over the jewels low on Evelyn’s chest. “I rather doubt it.”

Evelyn blinks up at her. “What? You don’t think we – ”

Cassandra kisses her to interrupt her, chaste and short. “I see a beginning,” she explains. “Through trials and victories, through blood and war, through strife and pain, I found you.”

Evelyn looks up at her fondly now, gently carding through the short locks above Cassandra’s ear.

“I found my purpose,” Cassandra continues, “and I would wish our story to extend beyond that truth, as we seek our peace together.”

She laces their fingers together on the pillow next to Evelyn’s head, and fully lowers her body to that of her lover, pressing their hips together. Evelyn inhales a shaky breath, squeezing Cassandra’s hand.

“Why are you such a heartfelt romantic?” she sighs, pressing a kiss to Cassandra’s jaw.

“You knew _that_ from the start,” Cassandra quips.

Evelyn laughs again, happy and careless. “I’m still doubting when it really hit home. Whether it was when you asked me to command Varric to finish _Swords & Shields_, or when you told me that you wanted it all if I attempted to romance you.”

A painful pang of regret resounds in Cassandra’s chest.

“Do not remind me of that time,” she says, looking away. “I was a coward. I refused you, and I did not understand what romance truly entailed.”

Evelyn’s laughter dies down. “And do you now?” she asks, looking up at Cassandra as if she hung the moon.

Cassandra brushes a stray lock of Evelyn’s hair from her face. Takes in the reverent look in her eyes, her lips painted and half-open, and the promise in the press of her body and the hand in her own.

“You,” Cassandra says simply.

Evelyn half-smiles, roguish and catlike. “Kiss me already,” she demands.

Cassandra smiles back with a flair she hopes is just as promising, and then bends her head and presses her lips to Evelyn’s.

Something about it is different from all the times they made love before.

Cassandra tries to figure it out – albeit a little half-heartedly – while Evelyn’s fingers tangle in her braid, and her left leg comes up to squeeze around Cassandra’s hip.

Tries to think in what ways it feels different while Evelyn takes a decadent first taste of her mouth, slowly licking her way in. She surges up to kiss Cassandra’s throat next, her body arching forward.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you wearing that over-the-top cloak,” she sighs into Cassandra’s collarbone, nosing her skin and peppering it with kisses.

Cassandra can’t help but let out a snorting laugh. “Should I have kept it on?”

“Too late now,” Evelyn murmurs, reaching up for another kiss that leaves Cassandra breathless.

Evelyn’s fingers are quick as they unbutton Cassandra’s shirt until it falls open, and she easily smooths it to the side. She folds her palms over Cassandra’s bare hipbones, her thumbs fiddling with the waistband of her pants.

Cassandra realizes what the difference is somewhere along the same moment when she’s sliding the straps of Evelyn’s dress over her shoulders to bare more skin to kiss. She lets her fingers glide over the curve of Evelyn’s thigh, already securely wrapped around her.

_There is no looming threat over our heads anymore._

No tension, no more breaking, no war.

Cassandra closes her eyes, enjoying the build-up of the moment, briefly tipping her head back while she presses her thigh closer and higher between Evelyn’s own.

Evelyn’s hand finds hers in the dim light of the moon and stars shining down through the window.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Are you okay?”

Cassandra smiles and nods resolutely. “Yes, I am.”

“Just wanted to check,” Evelyn says, her voice breaking a little on the last word as Cassandra leans down to press a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I mean, you know how it is with you and…”

She stops talking as Cassandra strokes her thumbs over the sides of her breasts through her dress, a soft hum escaping her lips.

“Decadent parties?” Cassandra offers innocently before taking Evelyn’s earlobe between her teeth, tugging on it.

The result is a low, resounding whine, and Evelyn’s hands are back on her hips. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Scheming nobles?” Cassandra tries again, not hiding the smile against Evelyn’s skin as she kisses that spot where neck meets shoulder. “Or perhaps you were considering my dislike of having my names, titles, and connection to the Nevarran throne announced for all to hear?”

Evelyn half-laughs, half-sighs when Cassandra cups her breasts. “I noticed that they _didn’t_ , this time around.”

Cassandra tries to suppress her grin. “I might have threatened the announcer beforehand about what would happen if she did not ‘get on with it’,” she says, almost too casually. “She was quite convinced of the redundancy afterward.”

“You’re sly sometimes,” Evelyn says, a pleased smile on her face.

Cassandra shrugs, raising an eyebrow. “I do what must be done,” she says, her thumbs finding the tips of Evelyn’s nipples through the fabric. She brushes over them tenderly.

“Well, Seeker,” Evelyn gasps out, rolling her hips against Cassandra’s leg, “if you could focus some of that intensity back to the task at hand, I’d appreciate it.”

Cassandra half-chuckles, half-scoffs; both because of Evelyn’s impatience and her own growing desire.

“Always with clever suggestions,” she says fondly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of each of her lover’s breasts. And to her heart – never to forget that _that_ is the place where her love and desire bleeds from.

And then there are no words anymore for a little while, making place for a combined song of pleased sounds, sighs, and encouragement. It’s not often that they get this – an entire night to themselves in luxury, a chance to want each other without fearing for the next day.

Evelyn arches her back, her moans loud and free as Cassandra finally manages to tug that contraption of a dress low enough to let Evelyn’s breasts spill out of it. She wraps one arm around Evelyn’s back, pulling her closer, and draws a nipple into her mouth without much ceremony.

“Oh _Maker_ ,” Evelyn sighs, and Cassandra spies their reflection in the mirror.

It looks like an illustration for one of Varric’s more sordid tales. Two lovers aglow in each other’s arms.

“Please,” Evelyn’s voice resounds, wanting and desperate, and Cassandra tears her eyes away, shucking off her shirt to press more bare skin against bare skin.

Kicks off her boots next, her pants and her smalls, and when her fingers crawl up to Evelyn’s warm, strong thighs, she realizes that her lover never really wore anything under them at all. There is only endless warmth and silken heat.

Cassandra stares down at Evelyn, shocked.

Evelyn grins back at her. “Cassandra Pentaghast, aghast,” she winks.

When Cassandra keeps staring, she rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, it’s not like anyone would look under them,” she says, stroking her calf over Cassandra’s side.

“I twirled you over a dancefloor,” Cassandra says, wide-eyed and unbelieving, “in front of the entirety of three royal courts _and_ the Inquisition.”

Evelyn nods. “Yes, and I twirled you. You have an excellent memory.”

“If anyone saw – ”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow, spreading her legs wider. “How ready I was to get into bed with you?” she asks. “I don’t fucking care, to be honest. Let them see and let them know.”

Cassandra blinks slowly, still feeling stunned. “… Alright,” she eventually concedes.

 _The bravery of this woman_ , she thinks, but doesn’t voice her thoughts.

“Good,” Evelyn smiles. “Let’s continue?”

She cups Cassandra’s face in her palms, drawing up and forward for another mind-boggling kiss that leaves both of them aching. Noses pressed together, Cassandra loses herself in the sensation again, crooking her fingers below Evelyn’s dress and curling them in, slow.

“Ah, yes,” Evelyn sighs in satisfaction, “all evening, Cass. I’ve had to wait for you all evening – ”

Her babbling dissolves into more exhalations of breath and happy sighs as Cassandra kisses her throat, sliding her fingers deeper so she can rest her thumb against Evelyn’s clit. She starts with small, gentle circles, letting Evelyn tip forward against her body, and soon the wetness increases.

“Maker,” she grits out when Cassandra presses harder, the heel of her hand now over Evelyn’s mound.

She’s leaning back on her elbows now, hips pushing against Cassandra’s hand. Her chin tipped back, throat exposed – so Cassandra continues lavishing her attention there, kissing her clavicle, slipping her tongue in-between the jewels of her necklace.

And lower, over the hills of her breasts previously hidden by luxurious fabrics. Cassandra swirls her tongue over the peaks again, earning her a rather desparate sigh. Slicking her fingers against Evelyn’s wetness, Cassandra presses in another finger at the same time she nips at a nipple, sharp and unexpected.

Evelyn’s next sound is a plea. “Please,” she asks, eyes bright under the moon. “Take the edge off.”

Cassandra nods. “Always,” she says, increasing her pace.

She rocks her wrist faster, the thicker slide of two fingers filling Evelyn up. Cassandra can already feel her clench around her, stuttering and without rhythm. Not too long now.

“Tell me I’m yours,” Evelyn begs.

From the corner of her eye, Cassandra spies their reflection again. Evelyn back on the bed, tense as a strung bow, her legs bracketing Cassandra’s form. The whisper and crisp of her dress between them, the crown still upon her brow.

Cassandra sucks at the hollow of Evelyn’s throat. “You are mine,” she whispers against the sensitive skin there, obliging Evelyn’s request. Evelyn jerks beneath her as she flicks her thumb over her clit.

“And I am yours,” Cassandra adds, increasing her pace.

Evelyn stiffens, her entire body on the edge, and then all of that tension suddenly releases. She shudders against Cassandra, clenching down hard around her fingers, and a surge of wetness drips down her thighs.

Cassandra kisses her, deep and messy, swallowing Evelyn’s heady moans.

“Fuck,” Evelyn gasps, arms coming up to embrace Cassandra. Her hips still move, riding Cassandra’s hand, wild in their rhythm. She presses her forehead against Cassandra’s, curling her body around hers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” falls from her lips a second time, when Cassandra flicks her clit again for good measure.

They draw it out a bit, Evelyn all shudders and hot breath around Cassandra, until the aftershocks die down. Cassandra carefully withdraws her fingers, wiping them on the sheets, and presses another kiss to Evelyn’s cheek.

“That was really something,” Evelyn murmurs, low and lazy. “Thank you.”

Cassandra just smiles back, carding her fingers through Evelyn’s hair.

There is an interlude of stillness between them; Cassandra feels her own desire, but it’s somehow a little distant. Like she isn’t ready yet for the cascade of pleasure that she just gave to Evelyn.

Evelyn notices, of course, as she always does, and gently rubs Cassandra’s neck. She massages the tense muscles, curls her legs closer around Cassandra’s waist, and they just sit together and enjoy the closeness.

The togetherness in the ease of an embrace, in the nearness of your lover.

Evelyn steals a kiss, unhurried and sweet.

In the Inquisition, there is no idle time that allows you to let your lover sit before you, and caress her face and hair with gentle hands and wanting eyes. To enjoy the deliberate leisure between the two of you.

In battle, there is no room to let your companions admire your battle scars; your strength, other than by blade itself. Especially not if that admiration includes curious fingers and whispers of kisses across your broad, bare shoulders.

But there is now, and Cassandra blooms under Evelyn’s attentive caresses.

For the first time in her life, she takes to the pampering that is associated with the Orlesian court.

Especially as Evelyn moves lower, from the first knob of Cassandra’s spine all the way down her back, fingers slipping over old and new scars with reverence at their sensitivity. And then over the front, brushing the collarbones that frame Cassandra’s chest, and lower still – over her breasts, a long and meandering detour, and then down over her ribs, one-by-one, all the way down to her navel.

Evelyn’s fingers are calloused like Cassandra’s; from years of dagger twirling and throwing and stringing a bow. But they are deft like any clever rogues’, knowing just how to twist and to press and to make Cassandra sigh and rise.

And then they slide _lower_ , still.

Lips already reddened and full from kissing, Evelyn looks up at Cassandra with a dazzling smile as she dips her fingers between Cassandra’s thighs, curious and light. She brushes them over Cassandra almost tentatively, but no question remains after her fingers come away coated with wetness.

“I have an idea,” she says, and Cassandra’s body pounds with longing, curled into a ball low in her stomach.

Somehow, Evelyn is _still_ wearing that ridiculously beautiful dress, though her breasts now spill out of it; her hairdo clinging to the ornaments of her crown. It should look ungainly, but all it manages to do is fan Cassandra’s desire further.

Evelyn looks both ravishing and ravished as she shuffles back onto the silk sheets, sheer fabric clinging to her half-naked body. She crooks her finger and beckons, smirking, and she settles back upon the bed.

Cassandra follows, not sure what will happen next, discarding her dress shirt to the floor as she crawls past its crumpled form on the mattress.

The moonlight paints Evelyn in silvers, whites, and blues as she leans back fully.

“Come on,” she continues, still with that wicked smile, “a queen deserves a throne, doesn’t she?”

It takes Cassandra a few more moments to understand what Evelyn means as she leans over her, and then Evelyn curls her hands into the space behind Cassandra’s knees, tugging gently. It hits her as she blinks down at her lover, and she feels the flush rise on her cheeks.

“Sometimes,” she says a little begrudgingly through the blush and the slight embarrassment, “I wonder if you have always known how to end me.”

Evelyn laughs, light and clear, as she helps Cassandra slide up her body until her thighs are almost covering her ears. Cassandra has to widen them slightly to make place for the crown.

“I thought you said you saw a beginning,” she quips as Cassandra rests back on her chest, the apex of her thighs dangerously close to Evelyn’s chin. Evelyn’s fingers lovingly caress the insides of her thighs, her nails clipped short.

The image is intoxicating; a queen and a lover both, between her own thighs.

“I did,” Cassandra huffs, crossing her arms below her breasts. “But this is – this is different.”

Evelyn’s breath brushes against her. “Really?” she asks, one eyebrow elegantly arched.

Cassandra looks away, trying to ignore the heat and the embarrassment she feels – spread wide open for Evelyn to see and touch, her desire so plainly visible – and says pointedly: “You know what I mean. Just – just get on with it.”

Evelyn smiles. “Anything my lady wishes,” she says, her Free Marcher accent morphing into something that sounds a bit more high society-like.

But Cassandra has little time to ponder what kind of inflection it is, because Evelyn’s mouth descends upon her. The first touch hits her like a fist to the stomach; due to their easy, gradual build-up, Evelyn’s clever tongue feels like a whip of liquid fire against her sensitive folds.

Cassandra gasps, doubling over as Evelyn gently noses at her clit, tongue coming up to curl around it.

Her hands are still on Cassandra’s thighs, stroking her; one slides up to grasp her hip.

The time for slowness is over.

Cassandra throws her head back as Evelyn kisses her with abandon, mouth sopping wet as she laps against her clit. Her tongue dips into her several times, a sharp stab of pleasure that Cassandra feels all the way down to her toes.

She can’t help herself, bucking back against the delicious heat of Evelyn’s mouth.

Sitting up like this, riding her lover’s face like this – it feels _different_ , almost too indulgent. Cassandra presses her fist against her mouth on a particularly strong stroke of Evelyn’s tongue over her clit, and looks to the side.

The mirror is still there, as is their reflection.

Cassandra’s uniform haphazardly painting the floor; her sword and cloak over a nearby chair in sweeps of silver and red, her shirt and boots discarded on the floor, and her pants barely hanging off of the bed.

Evelyn’s dress hanging somewhere at her waist, spilling over onto the carpet; her arms resting over Cassandra’s naked form. Her hair messy and her face obscured, pressed close between Cassandra’s thighs.

Evelyn hums into her, a low and pleased sound that reverberates through Cassandra’s core.

Closing her eyes, the image from the mirror still behind her eyelids, Cassandra sinks into the sweetness of Evelyn’s talented mouth. She’s settled on a steady rhythm as she alternates between sucking and licking at Cassandra’s clit, the soft humming adding another layer of pleasure.

“You taste so good,” Evelyn moans into her, “Maker’s breath.”

Cassandra can’t stop the cry from escaping her lips as Evelyn hollows out her cheeks, sucking more intently. Her fingers are digging into Cassandra’s hips now, too, squeezing in time with the ebb and flow of Cassandra’s hips.

After such an evening, after such languid, luxurious pleasure, the crest of build-up within Cassandra is not unexpected.

She pivots her hips back and forth against Evelyn’s tongue and lips and _teeth_ – Maker preserve her, just enough sharp edge to push her onwards – the leap over the edge just within reach. Evelyn notices, doubling her efforts, leaning her face even closer, head resting on one of Cassandra’s thighs.

She flicks her tongue over Cassandra’s clit, again and again, her mouth half-open and messy-wet against Cassandra’s cunt. And then, just as Cassandra looks down, her eyes fly open.

Her gaze is fierce, devouring Cassandra as much as her mouth currently is, and she looks like a vision.

Hair and crown spread about her like twin halos, Evelyn – _yes, a goddess_ – giving her so much pleasure, so hard at work between her thighs. All of that just to make her come; all of that drive and power focused on her.

( _And yes, an end; and yes, a beginning._ )

Cassandra gives herself over to it, hips stuttering, letting herself be branded by divinity.

“I love you,” she rasps out as she begins her ascent, and when she tips over it, it feels like a prayer.

Evelyn spurs her on, hands cupping her hips and pushing her ever closer, another moan of pleasure whispered between her folds. Nurses Cassandra through it with strong hands and an even stronger, clever tongue; strokes like lashes on her heat.

Presses her palm over Cassandra’s wildly beating heart, calming her and slowing down her pulse, bit by bit.

Even Cassandra’s thighs tremble as she lets herself down, carefully stepping away from Evelyn’s body before letting herself fall back to her side on the mattress. Chest still heaving, she throws an arm over her face and looks at Evelyn.

Evelyn is smiling, wiping at her mouth, and looks far too ridiculously pleased with herself.

Cassandra thanks her anyway. “That was… really good. Thank you.”

Evelyn snuggles closer, a leg and an arm over Cassandra’s body like a lazy, sprawling cat. The blankets are next, covering their legs.

“Do you want,” Cassandra starts, voice hoarse from moments before, “do you wish for another round?”

Evelyn smiles fondly, pressing a kiss to Cassandra’s cheekbone. “I’ve had enough for now, I think. Watching you was almost as good as going at it, myself.”

Cassandra lifts the blanket, peering down at her body. “There is glitter on my thighs,” she says matter-of-factly.

“It’s ridiculously hard to wash off,” Evelyn says. “And – just so you know – there’s glitter on you _everywhere_.”

If it were anyone else, Cassandra would sigh, resign herself to her fate, and roll her eyes. If it was anywhere else, she’d do the same. But this is Evelyn, and they are safe, and they are together, so Cassandra just smiles.

“I do not mind,” she says, and it comes out softer than she’d intended.

She curls her arm around Evelyn, their fingers lacing together beneath the blanket, and they lie there for a while. Looking at the moon and stars outside the window, and at each other, breaths slowing.

“So what’s next?” Evelyn asks eventually, voice already gravelly with sleep. “Lingering rifts, beating angry templars into submission, keeping the Qunari at bay, and you rebuilding the Seekers?”

Cassandra tucks her face into the crook of Evelyn’s neck. “Most likely, yes.”

“And you’ll be serving the new Divine.”

“If it does not interfere with my duties for the Inquisition, yes. I will.”

“We’ll keep restoring order. Together.”

That makes Cassandra smile as she closes her eyes, ready to sleep. “You can stop worrying and say it out loud. Your words make it abundantly clear.”

Evelyn’s voice is small. “Do they?”

Cassandra squeezes their hands tighter together. “I am yours. Did I not tell you loud enough?”

A kiss over her heart. “Tell me again every day.”

“I will. I promise.”

And a Seeker always keeps her promises.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> find me [on tumblr](http://octobig.tumblr.com/)!


	3. No holy place from which we were absent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a dance is never over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And there was no dance,_   
>  _no holy place_   
>  _from which we were absent._
> 
>  
> 
> \-- excerpt taken from Sappho's 94

  


**Chapter 3**

**In which a painting and history were made.**

  


 

In Skyhold hangs a painting.

It is rumored that Divine Victoria herself commissioned it; others claim it was Madame de Fer.

The artist remains yet unknown.

Those two facts in and of themselves are already enough to send the people gossiping and tittering about it – the mystery of it all, and the _amazing_ craftsmanship!

As an oil painting, its brush strokes are thick and lush; decadent, almost, the way they lie upon the canvas. A master at work, with deep reds and golds that are cause for speculation that it was a Tevene artist who painted it. It is certainly a reminder of grand, noble times – and a prosperous future to come.

Another matter that has added to the painting’s notorious reputation is the fact that several copies of it have been made. Though the one in Skyhold appears to be the original beyond any doubt, a copy of the painting also hangs at the halls of Redcliffe, in Ferelden.

And in the portrait gallery of Halamshiral, in Orlais.

(Rumor _also_ has it that there is a fourth copy that the Divine keeps in her office. No one knows for sure. They _do_ know that the Montilyets have made arrangements for a copy to be delivered to the meeting hall of the Merchant Princes in Antiva City.)

Then there is the portrait’s sheer _size_. One would need a castle or a keep like the ones in Redcliffe and Orlais to be able to display it in its full grandeur. It is almost unwieldly large, especially taking in consideration that it only depicts two people.

Among the common folk, there are also plenty of rumors abound – specifically of the graffiti that always seems to stain the walls near the painting, whether in Ferelden, Orlais, or Skyhold itself. Scribbled in ungainly letters and accompanied by vulgar drawings, it usually says:

_Red Jenny approves._

(Or: _Red Jenny was here_. Sometimes both.)

It is entirely futile to remove it, as it always seems to return the day after, with or without spelling mistakes. In Skyhold, they have not even made the attempt when the graffiti first appeared.

Also, around the same time the painting was first revealed, a new book came out by the hand of famous author Varric Tethras. Already infamous – though not as much so as his _Tale of the Champion_ – the book regards the tale of two soldiers who fall in love while fighting for their cause.

It has been commended for its truthful depiction of friendship blossoming into romance, and the difficulty of falling in love in times of war and strife. And, of course, for its intensely detailed smutty scenes. Even the Council of Heralds has made its admiration known.

Nothing new and so much reason for gossip – the Seven have always loved works by Tethras’ hand – were it not that the book shares its title with the painting’s. Which has led to speculation that the book, in fact, is a rather detailed telling of actual events.

Actual events as partially depicted by the painting, and now we come to the heart of the matter.

Two women stand, tall and strong, both of them clad in full armor that gleams in the sun. Their warrior-like auras have been embellished rather than diminished; one of them has cheekbones to cut through diamond and stone, and the other thighs that could crush a man’s head.

They carry their respective weapons; one, a sword and a shield, and the other a bow and quiver on her back, and one dagger in hand.

Their heraldry matches; one recognizes the flamed eye symbol of the Inquisition, as well as the emblems of the Pentaghast and Trevelyan families. One from Nevarra, the other from the Free Marches.

They are depicted in a wide, arching green landscape of rolling hills and dense forests. The sky in the back scarred by the Breach, now closed, and the Mark on the hand of one of them reflecting its eerily green light.

Flags of all the great nations with which they are allied somehow are marked at the backdrop and edges of the painting. They are many, but they do not distract – they, too, only enhance the power of the couple in the foreground.

Both of them are holding a golden cup; the woman with the sharp cheekbones pouring the water-like liquid of hers into the cup of the woman with the strong legs. Where one cup is poured into the other, a red thread encircles their wrists, connecting them.

Their eyes are upon each other, fierce and intense, their lips well-pronounced and red.

Around their heads are halos, golden and light; crowns of divinity, of saints.

The greenery in the painting has been added with obvious purpose; even though it has been integrated into the landscape in an organic manner, the meaning of it remains crystal clear to the attentive eye.

There is honeysuckle for devotion and bonds of love; forget-me-nots for true love; cloves for undying love, and a red carnation in one of the women’s hair for passionate, romantic love.

Pear blossoms for lasting friendship, and rosemary for remembrance.

If one would truly know the ins and outs of Thedas’ finest noble families, one would also notice that the family mottos of both the Pentaghasts and the Trevelyans have been engraved onto the women’s weapons.

And then there is the golden engraved plaque at the very bottom of the painting’s elaborate wooden frame.

The title on the plaque says:

 

_‘The Dawn of Justice’_

_or_

_‘Seeking Love’_

And below that, in curling lettering:

 

_Depicting the Lady Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan and the Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast_

_Respectively of Ostwick, the Free Marches, and Nevarra City, Nevarra_

_Friends, lovers, and partners_

_Never to be parted_

 

One could argue that all of it is too much. The origin of the painting, the lushness of its strokes; the obvious symbolism, the largeness of it all, and then that overbearing plaque.

But that never really happens.

For the Lady Inquisitor and the Lady Seeker are known far and wide, both by royalty and by beggars; and they are known to be courtly and just, and very much in love. There is no dance they have not been to, no war they have not fought.

They indulge in little, except in each other.

And the world simply seems better for it.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh, yeah. women loving women deserve fairy tale endings. which is basically the entire premise for this fic. and i will not have any historian erase that, thank you.
> 
> also, i am sincerely in doubt whether it was just leliana who commissioned the painting, or whether the inquisition in its entirety raised money to have it made. heck, sera would totally throw coin at this, as would cullen.
> 
> come and find me [on tumblr](http://octobig.tumblr.com/)!! open to requests.
> 
> **If you had a good time reading this, please consider clicking the kudos button! Thank you, I really appreciate it ♥**


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